Exhume
by Sub-Atomic Grape
Summary: She knows her name starts with an R, but not much else. Un-life as a Risen is dull, until a chance meeting with a group of survivors known as the Shepherds changes her outlook entirely, and breathes something back into a dying world. (Warm Bodies inspired AU)
1. Cold Bodies

**(Author's Note: Told you all that I had one more fic that I was working on. This is a story that I've been pecking on and off for the better half of a year, originally starting life as a Chrobin Week 2015 fic. In my defense trying to emulate Isaac Marion's style is hard, and I will never, EVER try to do so again.**

 **I do suggest a case of reader beware, since this fic deals with darker subject matter. In a metaphorical manner, but dark subjects all the same, such as depression, mortality, and as is the case of the source material, a romantic zombie apocalypse.**

 **You don't need to have read or watched Warm Bodies to enjoy this FE:A fanfic, but I recommend it anyways since they're great stories. I own none of them, and hope you enjoy reading!)**

 **Cold Bodies**

R. She knows that is how her name began. Nothing past that, and she wonders if she should feel annoyance for it. But being dead has a way of killing off those emotions before they can draw full breath. It leaves her with only a hazy fog to wander through.

She has traced the path through the ruins of this city often, enough that even her shuffling steps won't trip over the broken stone. She watches the world from underneath the hood drawn over her face, the underside of the cloth illuminated by the red glow of her eyes. The sun overhead always has a wane, strained light to it. The colors around dimmed out as though there is always a smoked-over, stained glass between her eyes and everything else.

She hears a whickering overhead sometimes. Some sort of large animal making their home above the Risen… and something that can likely fly, given that it hasn't been ripped to shreds just yet by the hungry dead. A part of her sometimes wants to investigate… but it takes effort to make that part of her stir. Easier to just remain in the haze and have her thoughts only occasionally stir, like something turning over in its sleep.

R isn't the only dead one to wander the outskirts, picking over old bones of cities for any sign of life. The living call them 'Risen' when they aren't screaming in terror or battle rage against them. R supposes that's as good a name for them as any.

Some of them hold onto their past lives better than others. Most of their number are well beyond being 'living' dead. They only live in the sense that they need to kill and feed to stay alive. The rest of the time they shamble and groan.

Not that R can criticize, much. She isn't much one for conversation. At least she's in slightly better upkeep; no stitch-like scars crisscrossing her face, no rot gripping at her flesh. She finds that she keeps company with others in the same state. Those who can ALMOST manage words but not quite. Two of those she keeps the most contact with could have been mages in some past life. Now their robes are torn and shredded, their hair matted down and losing the white or black luster that it might have once had.

The boy of their group goes by 'H.' The way he breathes it out sounds like he's always trying and failing to manage a laugh. The somber one, a woman, can manage two sounds for her own name. 'Th.' R tries not to hold a grudge that her name has one more letter than hers.

The three of them form one group, one that shambles their way between one feeding and the next. Sometimes they find themselves joined by one more.

Like today, when the other Risen drift apart, making room for a figure. He doesn't shamble like the rest of them. He moves with a purpose, a power, and stands taller than the rest of them. Gaunter as well; it's like the magic that keeps him more aware, more alive than the rest of them takes a toll on his body. He is little more than a canvas of blackened skin stretched over bones.

All the life is in his eyes. If hers and the others glow sullen red, his _burn_. The difference is as clear as fresh blood against old scabs. There is authority in that gaze as well, focus that her own eyes lack.

Until their gazes meet. The lips pull up on the Risen's face as he focuses on her. His gaze burns brighter and she wonders at the look in face. It is almost like… pride. Like someone tossing and turning in a thick, shrouded sleep, R feels the briefest murmur of something in the back of her head. Something heavy, smoldering, and she almost has a name for it.

Resentment.

But that word curls away quickly, the longer she meets those red eyes. It gets smothered up by something else. Something hungry. All around them, that thought spreads. The Risen go from something aimless to something with a purpose, turning towards a massive, walled settlement that looms nearby; just visible, and just carrying the hum of activity.

It's time again to seek out the living.

-o-o-o-

The gates to the world outside groan like a dying man. Impossibly heavy on their hinges, they yawn open and show the blasted city and torn up countryside outside. Looking over the black scorch marks on the buildings and the gray quality the fields have taken on, it's already clear they'll need to range out further than before to find supplies.

Feeding the city has turned into a full time job, and the world outside is just as hungry for them. A shiver moves through the assembled Shepherds standing at the entrance; a deep breath before falling into whatever waits outside. With each venture their clothing and armor gets more and more ragged, with a few more notches, wear and tear digging into their weapons. The only sword that doesn't seem ready to break is Falchion, and Chrom's hands are beginning to shake whenever he holds it.

They didn't die when Gangrel overthrew the city, devoured the last of the Ylissean territories like a hungry corpse. Even the Mad King has flashes of reason, it seems. Cruel ones, but still reason. Instead of putting them to the sword, he put the swords in their hands, and pointed them towards the outside world. He let the Risen beyond the city walls do the killing for him, one expedition at a time.

As Chrom watches the gates groan open, he wonders if a fast death would have been the better option. He knows that behind them, Gangrel and his witch Aversa both are watching their backs from the towers of Ylisse's castle. He doesn't allow himself to look back, but sees Emmeryn do so. Her face has gone wane in the weeks since Ylisstol's fall. Dark circles gather around her eyes, but her gaze is unwavering whenever she looks back at Gangrel.

"Why do you do that?" Chrom snaps out, hating himself already for how harsh his words are.

"Because I keep hoping he'll see reason." Chrom breathes out slow, to keep his voice from turning into a frustrated huff. Hope is a word that has less and less meaning for him. Every day they lose one more of their number or strength when they go out.

His main hope now is to bring them all back alive. Clinging to life one day at a time, nothing more. Chrom takes his steps forward, leaving Emmeryn staring back up at the castle that used to be home. His other sister, Lissa, keeps her eyes fixed on the other Shepherds, taking in their wounds. They heal slower each day. Her hand is already tightened around her staff; there's still fight in her. More than in him OR Emm if Chrom is honest.

He takes his place at the head of the group.

-o-o-o-

The world goes a little less gray when there's new meat nearby. The scent of living things seeps into the senses like something rich and red staining sight and smell. The dead city goes brighter, snaps into sharper focus. It makes the other forms, the living things picking over the city, stand out in vivid detail. The contrast is like a siren call to her, H, Th, and every other Risen in the vicinity. Their heads yank up like hounds on a scent and feet go from shambling to an all out run.

Dead things become remarkably capable when there's something to motivate them. Their speed catches the living off guard more often than not.

Then again, maybe they're just unusually desperate today. R reflects on that as the first Risen slam into the patrol. The more decayed in their number don't bother with weapons, clawing for throats with their bare hands. It doesn't do much good against the steel the living are carrying and wearing.

H and Th both let spells crackle off their hands. Not bright like the living mages, but dark and shrouding. But no less potent. They drive the living back, splitting their forces. Two of the fighters get sheared off from the group. One of them carries a sword, his arm exposed and showing off well muscled flesh. Her mouth is beginning to water just looking at it. The other carries a spell tome.

Neither of them see her until she closes the distance.

R throws herself into both of them, right as the swordsman looks up at her. The blade pierces her shoulder, little more than a dull point of pressure and release in her flesh. With a snarl she wraps her fingers around the sword and wrenches it loose. She throws it aside while she lashes out with her own blade. The pommel catches the swordsman across the head, dropping him to the ground easily. R pulls her lips back in a snarl, ready to fall on him with sword and teeth both.

She's stopped by a pair of hands wrapped around her, wrenching her to the side. A spell book falls to the ground, unused as R fights against the grip. With a hard twist she pitches her attacker over her shoulder and throws her to the ground. Something slides into R's hands from the motion; a bit of jewelry yanked off those long hands in the struggle.

The weight of metal in her hands fades out, when R stares down at the woman, her pale blonde hair pooled around her. R hesitates for a moment, wondering at the strange light in the woman's eyes.

It is only a moment. Bright red light flares across her vision, two points of light that pierce her brain with a single thought. It lashes at her with the gaunt Risen's voice.

 _ **Kill.**_

She sinks her teeth into the woman's throat and rips it out with one clean motion. Blood sprays out, a vibrant red brighter than anything else. It brings light back into the world for a split second as it soaks R's skin and mouth. Thick, coppery, blazing with sensation as it splashes her. Her senses all flare back up to life, wrenched out of torpor. As the woman's life fades out, her own blazes up for a beautiful bright moment.

R knows that lives flash before eyes when they die. Being a Risen, she gets to watch some of it whenever she kills. And here again she is a spectator, watching them unfold and leaching some amount of feeling from it.

She sees the woman walking splendid, regal through a court. Sees her again, words ringing out of her throat as she calms a terrified crowd. Sees her as a girl this time, easing the hurts of a younger child; she catches a flash of blue hair and eyes, feels a warmth settling in the cavity of her chest. In another flicker the boy is grown, looking at her with a touch of pride in his eyes as he says a name.

"Emmeryn." It's the briefest whisper.

And then just like that it all fades out to black, and the world falls back into bleak, washed out colors-

Except for one brilliant flicker of blue. R's eyes rest on it. The man in the memories is still there, even though Emmeryn is dead and gone. He fights his way back into awareness, admirably well for someone who just took a sword pommel to the head. His eyes dart around, looking for something. Probably a weapon, but there are none at hand. They freeze when they land on Emmeryn's body. He chokes out her name in a ragged sob, and the fight goes out of him. He only stares as R gets closer to him.

That isn't like him, the new memories in R's head say. They are lingering much longer than usual, instead of fading out like the taste of blood on her tongue. They push the image of him training with a blade into his head. He looks at Emmeryn for a moment, smiling at her in a way that lights up the training grounds. The worries of Risen outside feel like they fall away for a moment, through Emmeryn's eyes.

He has a nice smile. But R isn't seeing that right now. Just grief and terror traced across his face. She stands over him now, and he tears his eyes up to look at her.

The red glare flickers back up in her head as she watches him. She could spill his blood and get a few more memories to hold onto.

…So why doesn't she go for his throat? Instead she hesitates, as the presence in her head whispers and the drive her to-

 _ **Kill. Killkillkillkill**_

Becomes more pressing. There's electricity sparking along her fingers now, a spell getting woven in her hand and ready to plunge into him.

In the back of her mind, the memories of him training surface again. He has a name. It whispers across her mind in Emmeryn's voice.

"Ch-rom." R echoes it. Her own voice cracks and hitches from disuse. Her hands though, those are still sure. She doesn't bury the spell in him. Instead she turns it around and plunges it into her own side. Just like the sword, she feels nothing aside from her flesh opening up around the attack.

Her blood and Emmeryn's blood mingles on Chrom's face, where is splashes out. He stares up at her with confusion sparking across his face, but still alive. With so much blood and death in the air, the presence in her head is satisfied. She's killed. She's shed blood.

It doesn't seem to notice how there's one less death than expected. The other fighters have been forced into a retreat. Leaving her with just Chrom. As she watches him, something in her head lurches into motion for the first time in months, years. She doesn't know how long. But she has the flicker of something in her head. An idea.

-o-o-o-

Chrom always knew the world would go mad when Emmeryn died. But he never knew it would go mad in exactly THIS way. The Risen looms over him, the last of the thunder spell sparking against her flesh. He can't tear his eyes away from it, knowing that spell was supposed to be buried in him.

But he still isn't dead. Emm's blood is forming a red stain on the ground, she's died before him, and the Risen refuses to follow how things are supposed to work. Instead of tearing him apart, she draws her fingers along the blood on her face and shoulder. She stretches her bloody fingers out, but doesn't wrap them around his throat. Instead she smears the mixture across his face, cold and coppery smelling, before drawing him upright with the other hand.

He can't think of anything else but to follow her along. With how much he stumbles and half sleep walks through this weird, WEIRD set of circumstances, he probably makes for a convincing fresh Risen. His eyes stay fixed to the ground, and he can't find the strength in him to raise his head. None of the Risen can see his eyes lack the usual red glow.

He doesn't know how long they walk. But eventually the sky gets closed off, and Chrom realizes that they've found their way inside a room; one made of brick and stone. Stone columns lay broken on the floor, like bits of shattered spine and bone.

' _Temple'_ he thinks. By all rights it should be choked in a layer of dust… but it isn't. He looks up at the Risen that guided him here, and wonders if her robes have a way of sweeping dust aside. Illumination comes courtesy of a hole rent into the side of the room.

It's only them in here, in this near cave of a dwelling. Chrom thinks that might just be a good thing, as grief is trying to close in around him. He'd prefer if the Risen girl wasn't here at all either, as there's tears trying to sting at his eyes.

He blinks them away, turning to look at her.

"Why?" He manages to rasp out. With how raw his voice is, maybe he IS dead and raised after all and just hasn't figured it out yet. He feels half dead, like part of his heart as been ripped out and the rest of him is trying to make up for the absence.

The Risen just watches him with red, red eyes, glimmering out from under her cowl.

"Why… didn't you kill me?" Five words. More than he's heard any Risen manage before, so that must mean that he's still alive. He doesn't really expect an answer from this girl; hells, he wonders if he just hallucinated her saying his name during the battle.

"Ch…" Her voice rasps. "Ch…rom. Chrom."

…If this is a hallucination, it's a very consistent one. It's definitely not a dream, as the difficulty of drawing breath tells him.

"Don't… know." It's not much of an answer. But once again it's more than he's heard any Risen say. And she seems determined to be full of surprises by managing a few more words. "Don't… want you dead."

After that many words, Chrom wonders if he should give her a medal or something. Unexpected Risen of the Year award or similar. But since he doesn't have anything like that on hand, all he can manage is to speak.

"Well…Thanks? Sorry?" He can't decide which words to use, and so he settles for both. She gives him a blink, and he THINKS that for a moment there's a flicker of confusion there. In that, they're a match.

"Thanks for… not killing me. For saving me back there. And I'm sorry I stabbed you." He points to the hole in her shoulder, and she reaches up to it. The wound is either starting to close on its own, or the blood has just stopped giving a damn about flowing out of it.

The Risen's arm moves forward, dropping something from her fingers. Falchion clatters to the ground; somehow she must have been able to carry it back, and guide him. And she doesn't expect him to use it, with how she leaves it close to him.

Just now, he doesn't have the will to draw it against her; it also strikes him as poor form, to do that to someone who just saved him.

"…Welcome?" She tries. And Chrom, of all things, finds himself smiling. Why not smile, though? It's not like the rest of the world makes much sense anymore. For the moment, the grief in him dims against how bewildering the situation is.

And damn himself for his weakness and cowardice, but Chrom is content to leave that sorrow untouched.

-o-o-o-

In her mind, she walks through castle hallways. She isn't R anymore; her name is much smoother on the tongue, the same as her steps, everything about her demeanor. She is Emmeryn for a fleeting moment.

And the room she finds herself in is so different from the ruins; polished marble, stone, gleaming tapestries… all of it vibrant and bright on the eyes. Yet not an eyesore for R, despite seeing so much of gray until now.

Her poise is a calm match for the surroundings, as she rests a hand on a blonde haired girl crying into her shoulder.

"Sister…" the girl sobs, and near the pillars she can make out a familiar blue haired head. "They're... they're moving closer to us. They've burned towns and... and there's Plegia drawing close too."

Emmeryn's sister pushes something into her hands; a hair tie that Emmeryn recognizes, even if R is something at a loss. The name 'Phila' flickers across her mind... and with it a sense of sorrow. And yet Emmeryn still lifts her sister's head, smoothing out her hair.

"It will be well. These things… we can stand against them. We can stand against them and Gangrel, if we keep hope." Emmeryn's voice is calm, like a ray of sunlight on the face.

"Ferox is fallen. We have few allies." Chrom speaks, his voice curt and frustrated. He won't meet her eyes, his voice chocked with grief.

"But perhaps… we may still find help in unexpected places." Emmeryn answered. "Isn't that right, R?"

The dreamworld lurches in confusion, and suddenly she ISN'T in Emmeryn's skin any longer. Or in Emm's memories. Instead she stands on her own feet, her dark robes and unseemly stain against the bright memory.

But for all that she stands out, Emmeryn looks at her with a gentle gaze, and opens her mouth to speak-

She wakes up to strange noise. For a moment R doesn't know which is more confusing; the sound, or the fact that she was sleeping. Usually a Risen just slips out of consciousness for a night or a day. They let the world seep past them before clawing their way back into reality and the next kill.

The point being Risen don't sleep. They don't dream.

The Risen also don't make those noises she hears. She turns to see Chrom leaning against a wall. The moonlight from the rent in the building picks out his form. He shakes, even though it's a warm night.

His body trembles like someone has pushed a handful of cold into his flesh. It's not a spell she's familiar with, if it's magic-based at all. And his breath comes out hoarse, almost choked, even though she KNOWS his throat is fine. His sides flutter in time to the hoarse noises seeping out of his throat.

The novelty of those sounds draws her closer. That, and there seems to be something off in her own chest when she listens to them. Something that hurts, and drives her to reach out. Chrom flinches up where her hand touches his shoulder. The motion jolts her arm back, and she finds herself staring into his eyes. They have a redness to them as well, and his cheeks are streaked with water.

"T...Tears?" She whispers out, testing the word. Unfamiliar as the word is to her, it brings up others to her head. _'Crying, and grief.'_

Chrom lifts his head at the word, shame flickering across his face and mingling with the sadness that twists his features up.

"S-sorry." He rasps out. "You shouldn't see me like this."

"Why?" Chrom grits his teeth at that, and R isn't entirely sure if it's frustration at her for asking, or himself for his own reaction. But he just manages a few words.

"I don't want to burden people with what I need to deal with." But despite that, R doesn't avert her gaze... and something about her presence draws more words from him. "I… I was thinking about… Emm." R freezes over the name, and the faint dream memories casting shadows on her thoughts. Chrom turns from her, fixing his eyes to the floor. "I swear, I'll… I'll find whoever killed her."

R watches him, gripping onto his sword like a lifeline. She pictures that angry glare he gives the steel transferred to her.

Emm's ring is still resting in her pocket, the weight normally invisible. Chrom's words seem to lend something to it though, turning it into a stone in her coat.

A strange ache fills her heart, sharper than all the wounds she's ever taken on. Chrom only slumps further towards the ground, dropping the sword with a faint rattle of metal.

"I couldn't save her. I take a holy weapon into battle, and I still couldn't save her." He goes silent, gathering up his breath. Trying to smooth out his expression, thought his lips still curl back to show his teeth in a grimace. And if R's tongue is still deadened, the same can't be said for his. "It's foolish, I know. We ALL know there's a risk of dying if we step outside the capital. But I still thought… it somehow wouldn't happen. I keep thinking this is just a weird dream. But then everything hits home, and I know it's real."

The way he glances over at R, he's still having a hard time believing any of this. The mood is hazy, precarious... and Chrom seems to have his own doubts on where to lead it.

So R finds herself taking the lead.

"What…Now? Wh-what if you can't get... re-evenge?" For her part, it's amazing that she can think of things in the future. Usually it's just a shambling existence, one moment to the next and not considering much of anything. But now she's _planning._ Thinking.

And something about that is addictive. And Chrom blinks at her over that.

"I-I'm not sure. I guess I need to work through it." He scrubs his arm across his face, trying to clear it up. "Before, a part of me wanted to run away from all of this… the cowardly part of me. I tried to keep it silent, but… I must not have kept it quiet enough. Because I'm away from everything now, and-" His breath hitches. But for all that, there's a little more firmness in his voice when he continues. "And now all I want to do is get back home. I still have friends back there. I need to get back to them. So maybe I'm not so eager to get away from all of this after all, if I'm still thinking of other people. I've got a long way to go before I can measure up to what Emm was like, but…"

He trails off, shaking his head. In the depths of R's borrowed memories, she picks out faint images; images and memories of a kind woman, caring for people, motivated by something other than a driving hunger.

And… she finds herself wondering what it would be like, to be a little more like that.

"You… will. Return. Soon." Her words are still raspy, but she tries to push in some measure of kindness.

"Soon." She tries again. "Wait…And stay… alive."

Because she still doesn't want to see him die. She remembers Emm's concern and care for him… but also, there's something different curling up in her chest too. Something distinct from the memories. And it's what drives her to reach her hand out again and rest it on his shoulder. Her grip isn't lumbering or heavy now, and Chrom doesn't flinch this time from the contact.

Instead he looks back at her, a strange look crossing his face before he gives a small nod… and returns the gesture, putting his own hand on her.

"Okay then. I might be able to… since you asked nicely." He gives a tired laugh at that, and his hand shifts a little.

His fingers catch on the hood, then push it back, exposing her face.

-o-o-o-

Chrom pauses over the Risen's face, fingers drifting near her cheeks.

Then his thoughts kick into gear and scream a simple question at him.

' _What are you DOING?'_ There are probably neater ways of losing his fingers, than getting them bitten off. But for all his head screams at him to flinch away… Chrom keeps his hand where it is. This Risen girl has shocked him with everything else so far, so why not add close contact onto the list?

His inner caution smacks its figurative head over that. But since she's yet to bite off his fingers, Chrom keeps his hand close.

And the girl herself… she's still for a moment. Adjusting. Like she's just had light put in her eyes for the first time, now that her hood is off. For that matter, the glow of red in her eyes seems somehow… less, than before. They slide shut, like she's savoring the difference in feeling, and pulling in the warmth from his hand.

"In…tresting." Another halting word, before she opens her eyes again. The flicker of red shines on Chrom's glove, almost like blood-

He draws his hand back then. Not wanting to dwell on blood, death or… that memory, still fresh and waiting to seep into his heart if he lets it.

"…What's your name?" Chrom asks instead. "I'd like to call you something, other than 'Risen.' And I'd like to know your name if we're going to be each other's company for now." Since she doesn't show any inclination to kill him, that could be a while.

"Name… My name…?" She looks the world like she's trying to remember it, but the way her eyes narrow, she comes up with nothing. So instead she kneels to the ground of the ruin. The dust covers the floor, and she traces her finger through it. Semi-circle; her index finger traces it along sand. The moonlit dust makes her fingers gray and washed out. Vertical line. Diagonal line. Three strokes to form one symbol, in a puddle of moonlight.

"R." Chrom tries it out. "That's… your name?"

Just one letter? It seems impossibly simple, for someone so complex and confusing. (And his inner caution questions when he jumped from seeing her as some _thing_ to some _one._ )

"What's… left." R rasps out. "Nothing else. To remember." Surprise widens her eyes, looking astonished that she's recalled that many words. Chrom's hand falls all the way to the side, staring at her… and feeling something close to sorrow, for her sake.

-o-o-o-

Eventually, Chrom sleeps again. There's only so much fighting for his life can do to keep a body going, R suspects. But she… she's slept once. Somehow. And novel as the experience is, she doesn't feel the need to return to it. Besides that her brain is… busy. All jumbled up. That's also a new experience, of having thoughts fire through her brain without fresh blood on her lips to help them along.

R suspects she couldn't go to sleep again if she wanted to. Plus, there's one other thing. Something that isn't hunger clawing at her gut. Something from the conversation that haunts at her, makes her feel hesitation over the thought of feeding… even if she has fresh, ready meat in front of her.

Even the thought of harming Chrom makes her stomach stop up. That's another new sensation; nausea.

This is the way of things; the dead eat the living, in order to continue shambling through their half-lives. They eat the living to continue, and-

…And.

And because for the briefest moments, when one life expires by their hands, they feel something else. Something that may be close to the lives they take. It's the briefest flicker, the feeling of barreling through a warm room and catching a glimpse and feel of a warm flame inside, before getting thrown back out into the cold.

This is the way of things. In a haze of shambling through un-life, it's one of the few certainties they have.

' _But.'_ That thought, though; that is also something clear that sparks across her brain. And she didn't need to kill anything to have it. It's a fragile thing though, and vanishes when she tries to focus on it. Just that one word lingers in her thoughts.

But. And a feeling there might be something else.

-o-o-o-

She finds Chrom trying to leave, first thing in the morning. He likely thought he could slip out in the dawn, like shadows dissolve in daylight. In a way he isn't misguided; the rest of the dead have either eaten their fill or wandered to other points in the ruins. The only groans now are from the wind seeping through gaps and cracks in the buildings.

So it isn't a _bad_ plan, per se. R has to give him props for that. (And that's another thing. Respect is… a somewhat strange, new thing taking root in her. The obedience that bone-gaunt corpse inspires in her was nowhere CLOSE to this.)

Chrom's plan probably would have worked just fine, if R hadn't chosen just then to come back from her forging trip and meet him in the doorway.

He has his sword belted to his side and clings to the hilt like a life-line. He nearly draws it on HER, when she sweeps up in front of him. A part of her wants to flinch from the blade; bit her before, it could do so again just as easily.

The rest of her focuses on Chrom, and she stands her ground. And in a second Chrom recognizes her and slams the sword back into the scabbard, all without tearing any cuts in her. He looks almost… abashed for a moment, before lifting his head to stare at her.

"How did you-? Never mind. I need to go." R shakes her head at that. And keeps her feet planted.

"R." Chrom repeats. "I need to leave. If I don't, I'm going to pass out from hunger, and-"

His words fade out when R lifts her hands. The fingers clutch around an apple, withered but without rot, and a handful of grapes. Things tugged from the handful of plants trying to claw through the oppression of the ruins. The boney figure hasn't seen them yet, apparently; no orders have hissed through the Risen to tear them out from the ground.

Chrom, for his part, has is mouth hung open. R just gives him a look, that says he should know better. She isn't dumb. She has those faint memories, that living need to eat as well. And her brain is in a hurry to work at full speed, after mired in mist for so long. It can make connections.

"I…" Chrom finally manages one word. His stomach manages much more, with a loud churning gurgle. It makes him duck his head, and take a cautious step backwards.

"…Thank you." Chrom finishes.

It's very odd, how those two words make her hands shake, and that she threatens to drop the rations she salvaged. To stop that, she shoves the food towards him. Out of shock and reflex Chrom takes it. The weight of food in his hands does plenty to convince him to retreat back inside, and start eating.

"I… I meant it." He says, after swallowing a few mouthfuls to take the edge off his hunger.

And watching him, R realizes how long it's been since she's eaten. Outside the ruins lurch into a slow unlife, the others beginning to growl and groan from hunger, from the effort of moving their bones with the end result of finding more to fuel them.

And how she feels no pangs of hunger. No desire to feed. So what does that make her, if all other Risen need to eat?

' _But.'_

There's that word again. A breath of hesitation in her head.

' _But maybe-'_

She stops up short at the thought; that word is growing out into something more.

' _But maybe… there's something else worth living for.'_ Something that isn't just that mindless need to consume, to put in fuel so she doesn't stop moving. Something… greater than that. Better.


	2. Tepid Thoughts

**Tepid T** **houghts**

The changes start with books. When she goes out to forage for food for him, she brings back a handful of books back with her. No reason for it either; when he asks, she gives him a long stare and rolls her shoulders in a shrug. It's not like she can do anything with them. They aren't spell tomes, and her fingers are too clumsy to turn the pages.

So Chrom finds himself reading them instead. To himself at first, then out loud when he sees her eyes linger on him and the pages. She nods a little to the words. When he finishes one parchment, she goes out and finds pieces of another.

And… and he swears that with each day that goes by, there's something different about her. Something more vibrant and less dead than before. Her gaze isn't glassy or unfocused. The red doesn't look as all consuming as before.

"…Robin?" She goes still as a true corpse, when the name falls out of his lips one evening. But with a sigh of fabric in her robes, she turns to him. The red in her eyes seems… dimmer than before. He can almost make out a hint of hazel and ebony in her pupils. But for all that, she also looks bewildered, startled… and he winces over that.

"Sorry, it was just an idea. A name. Since you keep saying 'R' and I was thinking of things that start with that."

"Wh… what…. is?" She just manages.

"A bird. A song bird. Not like crows or ravens," he adds on. "Their voices are nicer, and they usually mean green things. I haven't seen one since…"

He glances aside; thinking back is still like picking at a scab, bringing jolts of pain no matter how nice the memory might be.

"Since the Risen began attacking. Since Emmeryn was still alive." Chrom transfers his gaze down to the pages. It takes two breaths before he's certain his voice won't crack, and he forces the memories into the back of his head. It isn't like R understands what times were like before… so he needs to find a different approach.

"I… was reading one of the books for tonight, while you were out searching. It was a book of poetry, and one of them was a poem about birds. And Robins, and…" The blood rushing to his face feels ready to burn him, but Chrom forces himself to continue. "And when I was reading it, I… I sort of thought of… you."

She stays shock still for a heartbeat, and Chrom swears that his words somehow echo off the ruins. Before he can draw breath to continue, she bolts to her feet and sweeps past him. To the far walls, where the shadows have been a permanent decoration all through the… days? Weeks? It's easy to lose track of how long he's been here.

Her fingers reach out to them, and the shards of wax candles littering the floor. With a gesture every single one lights up, to better illuminate the room and gave him the clearest, strongest light to read by.

She turns to him with an expression that demands him to continue-

But then she halts. Something teases at the corner of her vision and stops the motion. Chrom finds himself following the line of her sight. And finds himself facing the walls.

The surface isn't blank like he'd thought, littered instead with carvings. Time has worn away at the shapes, made them lost their luster, their sharp edges… but he can still pick out some of the details.

R can as well, if the fluttering in her throat is anything to go by. She hesitates over the figures carved into the wall, before reaching out to trace over the carvings. Her fingers run along bodies rising up from a horizontal line; corpses getting lifted up from the earth, the lines on the figures jagged and sharp. Her hands freeze at a symbol over the heads of the carvings, a six-eyed mark carved above the figures.

"It looks… almost like a fell-mark." Chrom murmurs, standing up from the books to look closer at the wall. R's fingers ball into a fist, and her arm shudders. "The books of Naga had always described something much like Risen as a blight on the world… though never how to fix it."

Or if this really was the end times, and they'd just have to deal with a dying world.

"There's… more than that." Chrom whispers, and wracks his brain. "Things about followers of dark gods summoning them up, of them being led by dark mages who sell their souls-"

R flinches from his words… like he's force-pulling memories from her head. And her eyes linger on the carvings as well, hand tracing over one gaunt figure, almost skeletal and raising his hands to draw up bodies from the earth.

Something about the image makes R shudder and duck her head, like there's something sinking into her brain that she doesn't want. That she can barely hold onto, and the weight of it sinks her down to the knees.

"Ro-" Chrom chokes on the name… but the sound lifts her head. She reacts to the name, even half said. It doesn't make the guilt uncoil from his gut, however. "I-I'm sorry. I don't… fully understand what happened, but-"

But whatever it is, there's no taking it back. R turns, putting her back to the wall and shaking her head back and forth. Her hands shudder like dead leaves when they come up to hold either side of her head and clutch at it. The flesh is pale against her hair and the black of her robe… a sharp contrast to his own hands when Chrom rests them on her collarbone. Trying to be an anchor for her. One of her hands slips from her head and the fingers bump against his.

"I… am…" R's breath hisses in and out along with the words.

But what she is? She doesn't get time to finish that thought. Not when a thud near the entrance draws their eyes up. Then its the turn of Chrom's flesh to go cold, and match R's body heat. There's two bodies at the entrance, and the slackness in their limbs is already a dead giveaway to them being Risen.

The first Risen raises her head and gives an angry, snarling hiss. Black hair falls in curtain around the red of her eyes.

"D-don't-" R tries to say, tries to get the words out. But there's no time.

The other throws his head back, the candle light catching the red of his eyes and giving color to his white hair. He gives out a long shriek, almost a hunting call, right when Chrom realizes that lighting all the candles in the room might not have been the best idea for keeping hidden.

R might well be jumping to the same conclusion, even faster than him. She moves faster, in a way that's a far cry from the usual Risen shamble. She barrels into the two, knocking them out of the way with a growl of her own.

"WHAT-" R flinches from the voice, the same as Chrom. It comes from the dark haired Risen, and from the way R stares, that's a surprising number of syllables for the Risen. "Are… you-?"

"Killing?" The silver haired Risen's voice is still loud, his voice stuck at that pitch and with a strange laughing quality to it. R shakes her head to both, standing over them and refusing to let them stand.

"NO. No killing… no… feeding. H-hurry." She glances over to Chrom just long enough to say that. The two Risen on the ground only stare when he jumps over them and follows her, clutching his sword close but not using it on them. Robin only glances behind her for a moment and whispers out "There's… more than this."

And gestures to herself, to Chrom. Something about the words makes the Risen freeze just as much as the impact that knocked them down.

"You've certainly got some interesting friends." Chrom has time to say, before Robin grabs him by the hand and leads him in a bone jarring dash.

The ruins are little more than broken dark blots. Blurring past them and jogging up and down in time to the steps. For all the good it does him, Chrom stretches his eyes wide to try and take in the details. Try and figure out where they're running, if there's even the slightest chance of getting out of this alive.

' _Not very likely.'_ The city is crawling with Risen, and over his gasping breath he hears the groans and heavy footsteps; all of them are converging on their point. Drawn by the howls from before, and the beat of their feet now.

"Ch-Chrom. Up." R's voice cuts in, pulling him up the steps of a building. Chrom stumbles up them, falling forwards more than climbing. It feels like they're just a pair of cats getting run up a tree. There's going to be nowhere to run once they hit roof level, nothing that can-

A nervous whicker reaches his ears, and Chrom yanks his head up to stare.

The pegasus before them has an ashen coat, nearly blending into the night sky. It stirs restlessly from hoof to hoof, almost shying from them… but not quite taking off. R has a hand held out to it, and he can just pick out her face molding into a new expression. She looks almost… satisfied with herself. Maybe it's just that she doesn't look blood thirsty enough to make the pegasus shy off.

"I…" he almost doesn't quite believe it. But a memory teases at the back of his head, some myth saying that dark coated pegasus were a step closer to the dark arts. Maybe there was a grain of truth to that. _'And that witch of Gangrel's certainly likes to ride them-'_

No time to dwell on that thought, though. R has stepped closer, a hand touching the feathers of the wings and coaxing the pegasus. The creature lowers its wings, but the muscles in the neck remain tense. Still on guard, still uncertain if R is going to go for its throat or not. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, so unlike the usual raspy growls of the Risen-

And Chrom DOES have something to compare it to, since there are groaning and snarling sounds coming up all around the base of the building. They drift up like a dark cloud and remind him that they don't really have the needed seconds to bond with the pegasus; the Risen are going to claw their way up and tear them to shreds.

-o-o-o-

The pegasus feathers ruffle under her fingers, almost tickling and rustling like a fast paced pulse. She wants to dwell on the sensation… but she isn't deaf or numb to the outside world. The dead are converging on the building, and she has precious seconds to convince the pegasus that she isn't going to break its back or tear its throat out.

And R doesn't have the clearest notion on how exactly to do that. It isn't enough to feel satisfied that she remembers there being a pegasus roosting nearby-

Remembers-

Images well up in her mind. Borrowed memories. She walks in Emmeryn's skin again, this time outside. Her face is warmed by the sunlight, still welcoming even with the ill news and omens. She's ordered the capital walls strengthened, and patrols increased to calm the people. And now she approaches the leader of those patrols by sky. A silver haired rider stands before her, calming a similarly colored, winged horse. The woman's fingers are calm and sure, a steady touch on the horse's mane. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, soothing the creature.

"They're becoming more than rumors." The silver haired rider says. "I've had some of my own fliers spot them, killed some… even I've killed a few."

"I know, Phila… we can't let our guard down now. They've stopped being unnerving stories to whisper in a tavern, and turned into a real threat." Emmeryn's voice is calm, flowing easily off the tongue. "And I-"

Her words pause. The world loses its warmth and the lush greenery, going gray when Emmeryn pauses. Her voice takes on a different tone, more whispered. "And I worry for my siblings again. And hope they've found someone to watch out for them."

She isn't speaking to Phila, R realizes. She's-

The memory cuts out, like teeth crunching around a throat.

The images are replaced by tactile sensation. Her fingers are on the neck of the pegasus, pale against the black coat. Not ripping at the flesh, but instead mirroring the memory. A strange hum echoes in her throat, further calming the pegasus.

Somehow, she's found knowledge and time to get close enough to sooth the pegasus. A small part of her wonders why, on the matter of time.

A second later she gets an answer. Cinders drift up, bright as blood against the night sky. Below is a crackle of fire, a smell of burning acrid cloth and pungent flesh. More red and orange blooms on the floor of the ruins, and the pegasus gives a nervous snort. R looks down.

The Risen are there in numbers, thick as flies. But they aren't climbing the buildings. There's a barrier between the dead, and where she and Chrom stand. The barrier takes the form of two figures. H has his hands up with fire curling from them and licking out, hot and biting. Incentive for the Risen to stay back. The ones that don't understand that go up like tallow, the magic augmented fires burning so fast and bright the Risen can't even groan or scream. Th is doing even better than that. She snipes with precision, bolts of thunder jumping from her hands to three, four, five Risen at a time.

But there is one who doesn't flinch from the spells. The Risen stands above the others, thin and stretched tall, a dead tree standing alone in a scorched forest. R flinches back when the Risen stares up at them. Black, tattered hair frames his face like a black fire. The red in his eyes is as intense as ever, and somehow she KNOWS that looking at those eyes for too long will pull her back into the numb haze. And need to kill.

A hint of something sparks in her head. just like before with Chrom, something is trying to get pulled from the depths of her head. An image of a dark place, and suffocating power. Much like what is drifting up from the Risen. She could fall into that image-

"R?" Chrom whispers, yanking her head away. She doesn't WANT to go back to that place. Not with Chrom still there, anchoring her back to what is NOW. And now there's a dozen corpses ready to tear him apart, and...

...And way of things or not, she'll die a second time before she allows that.

For a split second, both H and Th pause. They stare up at her and something passes between them, something quick. That's almost unheard of in the world of the undead, outside of feeding time. Th narrows her eyes on Chrom, but still gives them a short nod that H mirrors.

' _Go.'_ For an instant, R swears she can hear them speak. She doesn't let them down, gathering her breath to yell "Go!" to Chrom. Her voice is raspy, but it gets the point across. Both of them climb onto the pegasus, and it surges up to the sky. Leaving the Risen behind, and pushing them forward.

To what, R doesn't know. But it's better than staying at the ruins.

-o-o-o-

They fly on through the night. R guides the pegasus with soft touches on its neck, and Chrom sits behind her. And the horse never complains about having to carry double. R's humming seems to have done much to encourage it to continue onwards.

"How… R who WERE you before?" Chrom whispers, just audible over the beating wings. "The way you coaxed the pegasus into allowing us closer… I've seen Phila and Emmeryn do the same with nervous pegasus."

She doesn't answer. She CAN'T, even if she could get her idiot tongue to work. Because-

"R? I…I'm sorry. I know I've asked a lot of weird and… kind of troublesome questions already. You don't have to answer?" Chrom offers… but something about his voice is far off. She doesn't hear much in favor of the question echoing in her brain, holding her focus hostage.

' _Who were you?'_ The question lingers in her head. The memory of the gaunt Risen and his stare is no longer content to lurk at the corners of her thoughts. It springs forward into her brain, the mental image of red eyes searing into her thoughts. Raw, demanding. Engulfing. Hazy sensations try to latch deeper into her thoughts.

They are... Memories. Memories that aren't stolen from someone else's life; they're plainly hers, and paint a vivid picture in front of her.

The sky around her fades out, replaced by a room, almost suffocating with how close the walls are. No moonlight, no sunlight, just a room hazy with smoke and glowing with faint, ruddy light. The air is thick with incense, and a low chant drones through the air. Something about the voices makes her skin prickle, and dread pool in her gut.

These aren't feelings usually associated with being dead. ESPECIALLY not the way her heart threatens to pound out of her chest. The memory-her thrashes and twists, limbs bound up by something. A hard surface presses against her back, leaving her to stare up at red, RED eyes.

The Risen from before. Still with that strange, fierce light of pride in his gaze… but looking less dead than before.

"Robin…" a voice croons out between his lips. "Do not grieve, and do not fear. You usher in something greater."

A hand more bone than flesh snaps around her throat at the words. She struggles for air, and with each fading breath the eyes glow a brighter red-

"R!" Chrom shouts out, and her head snaps up from the memory.

"R? What… you scared me for a second, with the way you spaced out." Chrom whispers. Regret twists his voice and makes him lean in behind her. "I didn't want to call up… whatever just happened to you. I'm sorry for that."

"Ro…bin." She whispers, and feels Chrom straighten up behind her in surprise.

"Wait, what did you say?"

"N-name." She hates the stumbling, sluggish nature of her words more than ever now. She balls her hands into fists and forces the words out; she'll get a complete sentence even if it kills her all the way. She turns her head around to look at Chrom, and forces the sounds out before the thought leaks out of her head. "M-my… name… i-is, Robin."

It's ridiculous, just how proud she is of managing that one full phrase. But even if it is foolish, that happy feeling must be something Chrom shares; his face lights up in a grin, and a stuttering, breathy laugh works its way out of his mouth.

It's the first she's ever heard from him and something-

Something about it makes her memories shrink back, and give her room to think and relax.

"Your name is really Robin! I-I can't believe… so that's at least something you can remember!" _'And I helped'_ his voice says, as does the faint twinkle in his eyes. Absurdly proud.

But it helps her focus, and guide the pegasus through the night.

-o-o-o-

Time stretches out as they fly, the ground below featureless and black. Chrom gives up looking below, in favor of glancing at R-

' _Robin.'_ She has a name now, and knowing that makes him… strangely light in the heart. He's pretty sure it has nothing to do with the change in altitude, either.

' _And she's risked a lot for you.'_ Aside from the red glow in her eyes, it's next to impossible to see her as a Risen now. And then there were the others, who somehow stood against the other Risen to get them out in one piece. Something… somehow, seems to be changing.

What, he doesn't have time to dwell on. Something below catches his eye, and makes the breath catch in his throat.

"This is..." Below them stretches a field of lights, which almost mirrors the stars above. Chrom stares down at them, a hand held out and fingers outstretched. Where his glove traces over a patch of lights, his head provides a location. Sentry lights burning at the walls and gates with a ribbon of moat water reflecting moonlight; lanterns on the market pathways, vigil lamps outside churches, and dozens of candles and torches illuminating the inside of a castle.

"Ylisstol." Chrom breathes out. "But, how did you...?"

"Closest." Robin gives a simple answer. And in a lot of ways it makes sense; this is the only place a person COULD come from, and still be safe from Risen. Of course it would also be on the radar of the dead as their closest potential food source, even if they'd never have a chance of breaching the walls.

 _'Not without inside help, or some sort of guide.'_

"You're not wrong." Chrom admits. "I'm just a bit... amazed that we made it here. Even with everything, I wasn't expecting to make it back. We should probably focus on the palace, first." And work out how to go from there one step at a time.

"O-one other… reason." Robin continues as the circle the skies of the capital. "S-safe. Safest place… for you."

"For a certain value of 'safe.' I admit I haven't felt much of that. Not since Gangrel took over." Chrom sighs out. Robin blinks over her shoulder at him, the red light of her eyes easily outlining her confusion. "Right… you couldn't know. But we don't go foraging beyond the walls just for supplies. We don't really have a choice. Gangrel pushes us outside as a search party, barely arming us to fight and waiting to see how many of us come back alive. His way of amusing himself."

"W-who? Is?" The confused look is traded out for a narrowing of her eyes. Disapproval of those actions, or maybe disgust. Or possibly even… shame? Over herself for killing, perhaps? Chrom can't linger on it just then, answering her question instead.

"He was formerly a king, of a neighboring country. Even before the Risen came, he was eyeing up our borders. The dead were just a signal for him to come in and forcefully take over everything… and with our forces spread thin on fighting the Risen, we couldn't-" he remembers who, or rather what he's talking to, but Robin only motions for him to continue. "Emm… my sister. She used to be the Exalt, the ruler of our kingdom. Gangrel relieved her of that job, before assigning her, all of us who resisted, to the search parties."

Robin glances away from him at that, and just then Chrom can't will himself to continue. Instead he points to a place far off the palace wings. A set of rooms lines the section of the palace, dark compared to everything else.

For the world ending, the capital is surprisingly loud. Or at least that's the case at the castle. Voices and laughter drift up, but in Chrom's ears there's a bitter and harsh bite to them. Crows celebrating over a kill. But there's one advantage; with all the noise, their own approach and landing is feather soft on the ears.

They touch down on one of the balconies, the pegasus pulling its wings in tight. The landing displaces air, pushing the doors inside open by a few inches and ruffling the curtains. The fabric drifts up into the night, gossamer thin, and snag on Chrom's skin when he steps through the entrance. From Robin's confused huff, the same happens to her. The curtain fabric sighs over her hood as she glances around, and even her breathing is hushed.

"Where-?" Robin whispers, and there's an unspoken 'why' on the end of it, too. Why are they here?

A second later, she gets an answer. A quiet voice, squeaking from fear when it calls out "Who's there!?"

It comes from the shadows of the room, and a rustle as someone rolls out of bed. And despite how sacred the voice sounds, Chrom gives a weak chuckle and smile.

"Me. Just me, Lissa." There's a sharp intake of breath when he walks over… and then his sister barrels into the moonlight, hair mussed up from where she had to be restlessly sleeping. She all but slams into him, putting both hands on his shoulders. Her grip shakes, unsure if he really exists.

"H-hey." Chrom manages. That's when Lissa gives an indignant squawk.

"Just 'HEY!?' That's all you have to say after… after… I thought you were DEAD! I only saw Emm's body and…" She trails off, dipping her head. Her breathing goes fast, leaving any words far behind. Lissa rests her forehead against his shoulder, staring at the floor.

"I-I'm sorry. I was… delayed in getting back."

"That's putting it lightly." Lissa mumbled. "Everyone is convinced you're dead; even Gangrel. He decided to slaughter a pair of p-pigs and use them in place of you and Emm for a mock funeral." Her shoulders tighten up, the wounds from that insult clearly still fresh.

"Well… I can promise you, I'm not dead. And if Gangrel is still busy celebrating my death… he won't know what to do with me still alive. We just might be able to…" To do _something._ Escape, launch a desperate overthrow; right now with Robin still standing in the doorway, it feels like any number of impossible things might be pulled off.

"Honestly... I'm still having a hard time believing it, myself. How DID you make it back?" Lissa gathers herself up to ask.

"That would be thanks to Robin." Chrom whispers. Robin's boots scuff forward in answer to her name, and Lissa finally glances up, sees her… and from the way she goes stiff next to Chrom, Lissa clearly picks out the red in her eyes.

"Wait, before you get scared. She kept me alive. Kept me safe, and brought me back." Chrom keeps his voice calm, hoping that will do the same for Lissa. And keep the screaming to a minimum. Since Lissa is only standing there with her mouth hanging open, Chrom counts that as a partial success.

"Right. Lissa, meet Robin. And Robin, meet Lissa; my sister." After several breaths, Lissa gathers her voice up to speak.

"I-I… let me get Libra. Q-quietly. But… we need to talk."

-o-o-o-

She's not entirely sure how Chrom does it, but somehow he keeps her from getting stabbed, skewered, or set alight with spells, and all while getting the others to listen to him. They stream into the room one at a time, and each time Chrom introduces her, and impresses how she managed to help him.

Since she's still standing by the end of the introductions, something about his method works.

A few of them look ready to run her through, even with the assurances. One of them, a knight from his armor and steely gaze, keeps his hand straying to a dagger at his side. Chrom refers to him as Frederick, and Robin feels a haze of recognition. Emmeryn's borrowed memories whisper in her head, painting an image of someone steady and diligent in his work. And more than a little wary, so it's hard to take his cautious attitude personally. Then there's Robin's own faint recollection of spotting him amidst the foraging party.

This Frederick has cut down his share of Risen. Many of the people Chrom calls Shepherds have.

' _But no hard feelings about it. That's… just the way it is. Was.'_ Robin tries to have that show on her expression in a small smile, or in her posture and the way she stands at ease. It's a mixed success, but she can at least look over the gathered living with a minimum amount of flinches.

It's something of a shock, just how clearly she can recall so many faces. Frederick, Sumia, Lissa, Libra. She easily ticks off the names, supplemented by Chrom's voice and Emmeryn's faint memories. Then there's her own thoughts, happy to add in.

She can remember other faces from the battle, and can clearly recall they didn't die. Yet they aren't present; maybe these are simply Chrom's most trusted, or this is the limit of how many the room can hold. Or some combination.

"Unbelievable…" Lissa has gotten slightly better at talking. She manages the one word, and it comes out breathless when Lissa stares between her and Chrom.

"Robin is proof of it." Chrom points out, but something about the situation makes his voice equally soft. Robin does what she can to mute her own heavy breathing, since the mood seems to demand quiet. (And breathing itself is still a new thing for her; must be a contagious side affect of being among the living.) "Maybe… there IS something we can do about this end of the world after all."

He seems almost scared to hope. Robin moves a little closer to Chrom at his words, and he glances up at her. A slow smile crosses his face, and makes his gaze a little more strong.

"Well, related to that." Lissa adds, watching them both. A man in Naga's robes stands next to her, watching the situation through thoughtful eyes. "There's another side to it. I was talking to Libra. To cope with things. And I think that maybe there might… might be a way to undo some of the damage. If what you've told me is true, that one Risen you saw… he could be the source of this blight. It matches up with the carvings on the wall; a mage makes a dark pact, and acts as a focus for the end of the world and all that grim stuff."

"True, but… surely that requires more power than one person can safely channel. He'd need another, someone with equal power to him." Libra points out.

"I have a hard time believing there'd be TWO people out there insane enough to try and end the world." Chrom sighs out.

"Nihilism shouldn't be underestimated. What's more concerning is that there would be two people with enough power to bring it about…" Libra answers, only to trail off into a thoughtful humming sound. It lasts long enough that even Robin finds impatience simmering in herself, before he finally continues. "But. Maybe willing isn't even a part of the equation. If this person had someone with enough power, and a strong enough connection with them… he wouldn't need consent. Something like a blood tie would be enough-"

They posit other theories. Explore other ideas.

Robin hears none of them.

' _Who were you?'_ Chrom's question echoes in her head again. Something in the words distorts, comes back to her again and runs through her thoughts on repeat. _'Who ARE you?'_

She has no answer. Only images of red eyes, fading breath, and a voice whispering her name.

-o-o-o-

It hadn't been the easiest thing, slipping back out of the palace. But now Chrom leads the pegasus into a tiny stable, fixed to a near ruin of a building. It could have been an echo for the building he left only last evening; run down, crumbling from lack of care, and completely deserted. It's the way of buildings so near the edge of the walls. For all that they may well be the last bastion of humanity, there just aren't as many people to fill the buildings, as before.

Overhead the sky has gone blue-gray, hinting at the coming dawn.

Reason enough to get inside, before any eyes can pick them out from the gloom.

"Settling in alright?" Chrom asks, shoving aside the slate of wood that acts as a rough door. Just enough for him to slip through. "We've got options now, at least. Out here it's easy to stay out of Gangrel's notice, and I don't think anyone will figure you out as long as we keep a low profile. And-"

And he'd like to ask her for ideas on what to do. If the Shepherds could survive if they all left Ylisse, or if they could even pull off and escape in the first place. That was his plan. It doesn't last when Chrom glances up and sees Robin at ease, leaning against a wall. The stone is rough gray where she rests, bringing out the soft black of her robe. Her eyes are shut for a moment, head tilted to the side like she's resting.

She looks almost like she belongs. Better than the rickety old furniture taking up space. Then she opens her eyes, and even with a red shine, they still have a strangely... warm look to them, resting on him.

"A-and. We have choices." Chrom finishes, blinking his eyes. Yet, he can't dislodge that thought, of how suited she seems to this place. He isn't certain he WANTS to.

She simply bows her head in a nod. Something dances across her eyes, some thought flickering to the surface. Something that warms her face.

"It's... beautiful. I see w-why you... wanted. Wanted... here. Being here." Even with the fabric scraps drawn over the windows, Robin lingers near them. She tilts her head against the wall, stealing glances outside. And something about the coming dawn, the foot-worn streets, and the final vestiges of torchlight... it all works to relax her face. The red in her eyes has dimmed more and more over the hours; now it's just a soft shimmer in her irises, and seems to fade even more with the peace that settles over her face.

"You should've see what it was, before." Chrom finds himself boasting.

"I-I can... imagine." Though something about her words makes her pause for a moment, like there's something else sticking in her memory.

"...Robin?" The new name moves easily off his tongue. And raises her head just as easy. "Are you-?"

"J-just... thinking." She does that a bunch, Chrom's noticed. Spends a surprising amount of time in her own head. Though she seems to try and break out of that, when she can... and now is appearing to be one of those times, when she glances up to meet his eyes. "But the city... It s-suits. You."

Her lips move up when she speaks, and Chrom recognizes that as a smile. It transforms her face; she looks a little more… vulnerable of all things, like she's just opened herself up to him, and let him really look in on who she is.

Maybe that's what prompts him to talk a little more.

"Thanks… maybe it's because I have memories here. I grew up here with my family, defended it, protected it… I'll be honest, even if Gangrel is here now, that doesn't mean I want to give up and leave. At least… not any more." Weird, how several days ago he'd felt the place was so barren. But something about it now… something makes him unready to give up on things, after all.

"What… sort? Memories?" Robin swallows once to try and clear her throat, then continues. "What do you remember?"

His eyelids want nothing more than to mirror the windows and close up, fatigue starting to weigh in. But there's something about the way Robin watches him that seems… hungry. And not in a way that makes him fear for his limbs or his life. It's like with the books; like she's still trying to fill her head in with new things.

And Chrom finds himself willing to oblige, and starts spinning off a few tales; of how he and Lissa started the Shepherds with just them, then roped Frederick and some of the other castle residents into it. How he'd done 'foraging' missions as a boy into the castle pantry, before times got much leaner. And that in turn brings up other stories.

"Once, we caught Gaius trying to sneak into the palace. Not the treasury, but the kitchen instead. Sort of makes sense now; gold doesn't mean a lot compared to food. But this was even before the Risen became a huge threat. So we just found ourselves with a thief that Lissa thought was funny, and Emm didn't really want to punish…" Chrom sighs out. "I… miss that. I'm glad he's still alive, but I still miss that. When things were calmer, and it was easier to laugh."

Outside the sky has shifted from gray to a steel blue, and a bit more brightness seeps in past the curtains. But there's no pull for Chrom to be outside; they've been up for hours now, and a minute change in color isn't enough to coax him outside.

Besides, in addition to needing secrecy... there's the fact that Robin is in _here_ , which makes the outside and its watery sunlight lose some of it's sparse appeal.

Robin dips her head at that, eyes sliding shut. It seems even she has a limit for how much information she can absorb.

"I wish you still- Wish it was true. Still." And… there seems to be a hint of almost… guilt on her face. Maybe just over what she is.

' _But it's not her fault.'_ Who knew who she was, before she ended up as a Risen? And… who she might end up becoming. The knowledge warms him, and makes him a little less sick for the past.

"I don't mind looking forward right now. There's a chance things might get better, and I'll cling to that. But right about now… I could go for sleeping, I admit." And for her part, Robin seems willing to allow that. She slumps along the wall and comes to a rest on the floor, her eyes sliding shut.

"Good night?" Chrom offers, picking out a softer looking spot on the floor. Robin gives a sigh in answer, drifting off.

-o-o-o-

The dead don't dream. And yet here she is, dreaming again. Finding herself in a wide open green place, almost impossibly bright from the sun overhead. So bright that she hears a voice before she ever focuses on the face speaking the words.

"In another, better life, I wish I could've met you in a scenery like this. Or had Chrom encounter you in this backdrop." Emmeryn's voice reaches Robin's ears. Familiar by now in her hearing. Having Emmeryn talk to her is also becoming a familiar thing. Enough that Robin doesn't start over it, and the dream holds around them.

Emmeryn stands in the center of the field, sunlight making her hair almost glow. Robin's own skin feels washed out, compared to her... yet Emmeryn has no trouble meeting her gaze. There's a half patient, half pleased look on her face.

"Robin... right? That's been settled as your name?"

"Y-yeah." This time her voice only stammers out of surprise, not because words are still a foreign entity on her tongue. "I'm... Robin."

"So you remember yourself now? You seem to be growing more alive, too."

Robin takes that as a cue to step closer, and feels a ghost of warmth across her skin. It's good to be here, surrounded by color, light, and air. The only thing that's missing-

"I wish he could see this, too." Robin's voice comes smooth off her tongue. She turns around on her heel, taking in the field. "Chrom would love this."

"You remember that from my life?" Emmeryn's voice stops her mid motion. Robin holds still, eyes staring up at the sky as she desperately combs through her memories. She swears the ground shudders underneath her, reality trying to break back through. A pain starts to build in her chest, warring with the warmth of the field and her wish for Chrom's presence.

 _'Remembering from_ _h_ _er life. HER'S. And you-'_

Finally she shakes her head, not daring to speak. She can't remember any preference like that from Emmeryn's stolen memory. Just that... it seems to be something Chrom would love. And him being happy takes a priority for her, beyond everything else.

"...So. You ARE feeling something for him, beyond the scope of what I feel, or you took from my life. I'm relieved." Robin's mouth twists in a frown, and she shakes her head.

"You're relieved, over being... DEAD?" Her voice cracks out at that. And in response lines spread around them. Cracks in the dreamscape, starting to show.

 _'Dead, dead, DEAD. Because of YOU.'_

Robin holds a hand out them to try and stop their spread, for all the good it does. She may as well try to grasp smoke, and the cracks spread spider-web across the field. Emmeryn watches her with a sad smile, shaking her head.

"I'm relieved you've found something good, despite everything. But... It seems we're done with this, now." The field shreds before Robin's eyes, piece by piece. The grass and sky dissolve to float away like motes of dust in a storm.

A grayed out sky lurks beyond the scene. Dotted with ruins.

"I-I don't- I don't w-want-" her voice is going clumsy already. Emmeryn is turning gray to match the surroundings. Figures show around them, a familiar searching party. Beyond them lurch other forms, and faint hungry moans whisper across the scene. Emmeryn holds a hand out to them, heedless of the thick black cracks running along her own flesh.

"I'm sorry, Robin... but you can't hide away from this forever. You have to face this eventually, much as I wish you could be spared that. You and Chrom, both." The black marks jump from her arm and climb towards her face. "Everything is moving forward again."

Robin springs forward to try and stop Emm from breaking any further. Instead her hands turn red where they touch Emmeryn's skin. On their own, her lips pull back to show her teeth and Robin already knows they are just as red.

"You must-"

Robin stirs from her sleep. Emmeryn's eyes vanish from her dreams, and whatever faint conversation she'd been holding with her. A sense of dread lingers in her gut however. Outside the sun has charted its course across the sky, taking any blue along with it.

And Chrom has long since stirred from his sleep, judging by the way he moves around the room. His sleep seems to have filled him with a restless energy, while Robin can barely lift her head. The phantasms from her dream seem determined to weigh her down.

"Back with us?" Chrom asks, turning to focus on her. It takes effort, a grinding of muscle and bones to stand up, but Robin manages it. She dips her head once in a nod, walking to the center of the room.

"We've got a little time to find our feet, before Frederick arrives to go over potential plans." Chrom tells her, motioning to a rickety table that takes up the middle of their chamber. "And… I was worried for a second. You were looking a little, well… more dead than usual. I was almost scared you wouldn't-"

Chrom cuts himself off, shaking his head.

"I think I'm dwelling on loss too much, even though I promised I wouldn't." He sighs out at last. That restless side is still with him, and spurs his tongue to keep wagging. "I was dreaming… about the past."

So was she. And for once Robin is glad she lacks the vocabulary to really talk about what happened.

"I was… thinking about Emm again. I dreamed that she was alive, and…" Chrom ducks his head, a shaky laugh coming out. "Believe it or not, I was introducing her to you."

Maybe she doesn't have words to talk about her dream, but she DOES have a cold feeling creeping up her back.

"And I sort of wonder if Emm… could Emm come back? Like you?" Robin shakes her head at that; she knows that isn't how it works. It's not enough to die by the hands of a Risen. If the gaunt one isn't around to raise the dead afterwards, they stay that way.

Chrom lowers his head at that, sighing. "Didn't think so, but I… I was clinging onto that anyway."

The ring weighs down in her pocket again, and only seems to grow heavier when Chrom watches her.

"I'm starting to think that things might… be changing a little. Or a lot. I mean, look at you." There's a smile twitching across his face, warming his words. But the prior question about Emmeryn leaves Robin cold. It's like the blood and flesh she swallowed is still there in her throat, choking her, forming into a nauseating weight in her gut.

Chrom notices none of it, still watching her across the table. That smile is more than a hint now.

"You've saved me. Brought me here, and I'm sure the others will see there's something… well, something special about you. And maybe that'll help lessen the hurt of Emmeryn's passing. It…" His voice drops to a mumble, almost embarrassed to be saying the words and fighting to verbalize them. "It… certainly helps me, that you're here."

"I…I-It was me." By contrast, her own words flow out with barely any effort. Like blood from a wound. The sun sets outside, drawing deep shadows across the room and turning the walls a vivid red. Chrom's flesh seems to lose its own colors, and he stares at her.

"What… are you talking about? What was you?" Of course now her words choose to fail her. Just the thought of trying to describe what happened with her and what she did to Emmeryn makes her throat go dry.

So she's left with actions. Her fingers are clumsy, and they thud against the wood surface of the table. The ring makes a sharper sound where it clinks and falls free from her grip. The gold of the band and the shield emblazoned on it glimmer in the fading light.

Chrom flinches from the noise like it's a stab to the gut… only to go shock still when his eyes focus on the ring.

In and out, his breath shudders, harsh against Robin's ears. His hand ghosts out, lingering over the ring. His fingers shake, just like several nights ago in the ruins, when he thought back to Emmeryn.

"I wanted… I wanted to think it wasn't you." Chrom finally says, and his fingers tighten around the ring, pulling it close to him like it's the only solid thing. He stares down at it, not daring or just not willing to look back at her.

Can she really blame him, now that he knows?

"I'd imagined it once or twice, playing the ways it could've gone out in my head. But… I just didn't want to think that was what happened." The sun vanishes beyond the horizon, dipping the room completely into shadow. "That… that it was you."

"I… I-" Something's wrong with her voice. More than before, or is usual. Words were hard to come by before. Now they're next to impossible to push around the tightness in her throat. They hitch along with her breath, come out choked, and always with a sobbing that she can't bite back. "I'm… I'm sorry."

They're the only words she has right now. And they draw Chrom's head back up. The smile is washed from his face, and a haunted look settles in his eyes.

"I…I'm sorry… I'm s-sorry." The only thing she can do is repeat those words, over and over again. Her voice breaks on different parts. And no matter how much she says them, she knows they can't fix what she's done. Or the way Chrom stares at her, and the hurt crossing his face.

The table space between them is suddenly vast, and only grows more so when Chrom pushes himself up. He steps back, but whether it's to run or bridge the gap, Robin doesn't know. She doesn't have time to learn, when there's a knock on the door. Frederick's voice rings through, and Chrom turns to it-

And all of the sudden, Robin can't bear to have him look back at her. She can't be here when Frederick opens the door… and so she bolts, out the back way and into the streets. Overhead the stars have come out, and stare down at her like a thousand accusing eyes.


	3. Warm Hearts

**Warm Hearts**

She runs almost like a living thing. A prey thing. Something hunted, trying to escape.

The dead don't deal with things like these. Their lives are ponderous but sure, never rushing. In a way Robin is envious of that, because with each spark of that thing inside her, with each step she gets closer to being alive, it also reminds her of the limits of her body. And right now her lungs burn with each step, and her breath comes out in a sob.

She doesn't dare look behind her. The living who still linger in the streets jump out of her way, exclamations drowned out by the thunder of her pulse. They keep her from hearing any potential footsteps following her. A part of her hopes there are none… and that she might outrun the pained look on Chrom's face.

She isn't so lucky on the last. The image feels burned into her brain, and something about it makes her eyes _hurt-_

Something runs down the side of her face. Hot, stinging and wet.

' _Crying.'_ Robin realizes. No wonder Chrom shook the way he did when the same happened to him. Her sides shudder on each inhale and exhale, like her body wants to rend itself apart one breath at a time.

The walls loom ahead of her. The entrances are barricaded shut, so Robin veers to the side and makes a dash to a set of stairs, stretching up to the top of the walls. What she does when she gets beyond the city, Robin doesn't know. She can't stay here, with Chrom's sorrow haunting each step. And more and more people noticing the red glow in her eyes where she runs, and a shriek starting to build in the city. Staying here DEFINITELY isn't an option.

On the other hand, going back to the Risen and quietly waiting for the end of the world doesn't hold much appeal either. Or doing whatever is her part to usher in the end of it, according to the red eyes still lingering in her mind. So with no better option, Robin just keeps on running.

It's only when she crests the wall, that it occurs to her there's remarkably little in the way of resistance. No guards alerted by the cries, even though they now ring like bells behind her.

It isn't long before Robin gets her answer. The guards left along the wall either lay in broken tangles of limbs and weapons… or stand in a limp, sagging manner, not yet used to the spells reanimating their bodies. The magic sets a red glow in their eyes, echoed by dozens of others along the wall; twin, dead pairs of sentinel lights to replace what's been extinguished. The city is now ringed by Risen.

She sees familiar faces among them. H and Th both stand there… but the hunch in their shoulders shows they DON'T want to be present. But with no choice in the matter, dragged along by the choice of something stronger than them. They won't meet Robin's gaze, and the scarlet glimmer of their eyes seems fainter than before. Almost a match for the dimming in her own eyes.

Something stirs overhead, a low hum of displaced air that teases her hair. More pegasus flying overhead. She lifts her head to see riders, trying to raise their spears against the risen. But then… A spell hisses overhead, slithering across empty air to slam into the riders.

One of the remaining, living garrison goes slack in and falls from the saddle of her mount. The other riders scatter. The struck rider doesn't have far to fall, but Robin still feels the impact of her body on the stones, like it was a blow to her own gut.

' _You drew the Risen here.'_ Somehow, she knows this is true. She is a beacon for the dead. And has who knows how much blood on her hands and on her teeth. The pegasus rider stays limp on the ground, until a shadow falls over her. It clouds the brown of her hair, washes out the pearl colors of her armor. A gaunt figure leans over her.

The glow of the remaining torchlight grows ever fainter, eaten up by a dark miasma lingering in the air. The shadows drape across the fallen rider, almost seeping into her skin. Then her breath comes out in a long, deadened groan. Her body jerks up like a puppet pulled on strings. The air hums with ambient magic, and the left over residue sticks to the back of Robin's throat. The newly Risen's eyes open in a red glare, and seem to bore into her own.

' _I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.'_

In the span of the spell casting, H and Th move in beside her, like fellow drowning victims searching for anything to cling to. Before them, the rider twitches again under the spell's control, head shaking back and forth. She seems to almost… fight, like a figure asleep throwing off blankets that have gone too hot. The Risen all turn their attention to her, and the gaunt leader bends its attention to her. Shadows fill up again, obscuring the sight from Robin's vision.

The new dead seem more restless, less willing to obey. Robin should do something with this gap and the way it demands the gaunt Risen's attention, but it escapes her on WHAT that should be, exactly.

So she does the best thing she can, and keeps running. It's all she knows how to at this point. The castle walls give her just enough room to race away from the swell of Risen. The spell soaked air clutches at her, pulls at her feet, makes it impossible to put more than a stone's throw distance before Robin slouches against the parapet of the wall. Drained and spent. Behind her, Th and H mirror her motions; trying to follow her, but doing not better with breaking all the way from the Risen.

' _Where else do you plan to run to? There's no one.'_ Except for the Risen, forming a black knot and preparing to swallow up the distance. And her, and her friends, and any further plans of being something other than dead. _'THIS_ _is where you belong-'_

"Robin?" The voice is soft amidst the groans of the dead and the cries of the city. Little more than a breath against her ears… but it pulls just enough at her ears and turns her head. The familiarity of that voice doesn't hurt either, despite the fact that by all logic it SHOULDN'T be there.

The spell to raise the dead seems to have a hard time sticking to Chrom; the white of his cape still shines out, as does the blue of his hair. Chrom stands near another set of stairs, having just climbed them and grabbing his breath. Robin knows she doesn't cut a very proud figure right now; not with her eyes opened wide and her mouth hanging open.

Not that this stops her from taking a step closer to Chrom. Somehow finding the strength to do so. Th and H fall in behind her, forming a barrier between the Risen and them. And just giving her room to give Chrom a confused look, and try to mouth out 'why?'

"Robin! I-" Chrom looks just as bewildered as her, and stares at her like he's afraid she'll vanish if he blinks. He must read the confusion in her face, since he continues. "I-I realized something. Something important. I… miss Emm. It hurts to think about her being gone."

' _Because of me.'_ And she'll gladly wear her tongue out in apologies, if that would only fix things. But Chrom stalls her, holding up a hand. "And I realized, I've already lost one person I..."

Time slows to a crawl as Chrom gathers his breath. "I...I love."

That word thunders through her, stronger than the spells weaving around them. But it doesn't spur her to move; instead it freezes her to the spot. Disbelieving.

His hand shifts position, getting held out to her. "I don't want to lose another person like that, so soon."

-o-o-o-

This certainly hadn't been how he PLANNED to spend his evening, watching Risen spill over the walls and into the city. Hearing the other Shepherds trying to climb the steps to try and meet whatever is breaching the defenses. They're drawing weapons in a rattle of steel; dulled as they are from so many fights, there's still enough of an edge to the Shepherds to do some damage.

 _'And they can't do that! Not now!'_

Maybe a handful of them know Robin… and he's not entirely sure how convinced they are that she isn't someone they need to hurt. It's not like horde of dead are an excellent argument for her being a friend.

"Sumia-?" Frederick chokes out the name behind him, and the metal of his gauntlets clinks around the knight's weapon. With a sinking lurch, Chrom can pick out some more familiar faces in the crowd of Risen. Those that aren't Robin, or the two looking-slightly-less-dead friends that have turned up.

There's dark magic at work on the walls, reanimating people. Closing a noose around their collective necks.

The world seems almost determined to end on Chrom.

But he'll be damned if it does so, before he confesses his feelings to Robin. He doesn't want it to end with those words unsaid, with her never hearing them.

…Though the way she stares at him, Chrom has to wonder if she's heard any of what he said. And the Risen nearby are starting to take notice of them. Heads are lifting, some more rotted than others. All of them have a hungry look in their eyes, even Sumia-

And he and Robin are caught between the two sides. Her friends form a barrier between them and the Risen. Maybe the Risen remember the last time they tried to rush these two and caught fire, for they hold back. The gaunt Risen has his hands full with managing the new dead, unable to spur the Risen forward and overwhelm them.

And Chrom keeps himself between Robin and the Shepherds, now drawing their weapons.

"Don't-" he tries to say to them, still keeping his eyes on Robin and hand stretched out to her. "She's not an enemy-"

He can't break eye contact with her, but he can all but FEEL the way the Shepherds tense up behind him. Wanting to slam into the Risen in a last stand and kill whoever or whatever they can… if they could just get Chrom to move out of the way and end the stalemate.

And Robin still doesn't take his hand. A stunned look stretches across her face, like she can't believe what he's doing.

"…Well. And what do I owe the pleasure for THIS spectacle?" A voice slashes into his hearing. Robin lifts her head up, tensing. Chrom still knows that voice, much as he'd like to forget.

"Gangrel." Judging by the snap of his words, standing on the edge of the wall. There's snort of pegasus nearby, strangely grounded amidst everything else that's going on, and Chrom knows that witch of his, Aversa has to be close by as well.

"So the rumors were true… Chrom, back from the dead. Along with a host of Risen to come with him." The words twist into his ears, a harsh laugh lingering behind them. Chrom can imagine the twisted grin on the man's face. Robin narrows her eyes at him, tensing up; the presence of so many living, and so many weapons drawn must be getting to her. Making her ready to fight, even though just now that's the LAST thing he wants.

Chrom takes a closer step to Robin, and whispers a word low to her. "Please…"

And.

It draws her gaze away from the violence poised to unfold. Puts her eyes back on him, and the strange look crosses back across her face again. Still… not quite believing.

' _Why is it so hard for her to think that t_ _his is true_ _?'_

"Look at him. He's siding with THEM; the time out in the dead lands must have done something to his brain." Gangrel hisses out to the Shepherds. "Why would you want to side with him, looking at that?"

A noise of fabric sliding on flesh, as Gangrel tilts his head. "If I see correctly, I do believe some of your own soldiers are among the newly dead. Such a shame, that."

The Risen beyond all groan, all snarl as if in answer to Gangrel's taunts.

"Frederick, wasn't it?" Gangrel continues. "You might want to start killing soon, wouldn't you? So you don't lose anything ELSE? What does it matter if you need to mow down a foolish Princeling in the process? He might very well be one of them already; maybe his eyes have already gone red, and that's why he won't look at any of you."

' _I can't break contact with her-'_ Chrom desperately wants to say… only for Robin to shake her head back and forth.

"DON'T." Her own voice crackles out, louder than his when she looks over Chrom's shoulder. She must be making eye contact with Frederick, judging by the soft look across her face. "He's…NOT. Not dead. M-more…"

Robin breaks eye contact from Frederick, and looks straight at Chrom. And… somehow. Somehow the words flow out of her, evenly.

"Chrom. Is still alive. More than anyone, and it's… It's catching." She whispers out the last. And dips her head, bringing it in closer to Chrom. For the moment, her head bumps against his chest, bridging the gap completely. It's almost reflexive that his arms wrap around her shoulders, to hold her close.

Chrom finally lifts his head up, now that he can feel her weight against him. And he looks over to see the Shepherds… not drawing weapons on THEM now, but forming a ring around them against Gangrel and his troops.

Over Frederick's shoulder, Chrom glimpses the Mad King, and the disbelief drowning his face. Even his witch, Aversa, has a flash of disbelief and disgust crossing her expression. She turns her head to look at Gangrel, disgusted with him-

And he swears, SWEARS there is a touch of red in her irises. A trace of magic clouding her features. And quite suddenly, it makes sense why she's such an accomplished mage, if she traded something of herself in exchange for that.

And Gangrel is only just now realizing that as well.

A thought from before haunts his head; the Risen couldn't come here, couldn't scale the walls… Could they?

' _Not unless they have something strong driving them up. And someone inside, to help.' C_ hrom's eyes fall on Aversa. He remembers Gangrel's gleeful desire to watch things burn… and how it's not that hard to jump into the deep end of that. That degree of nihilism is easily contagious, and he isn't certain whether Gangrel caught it from Aversa, she from him… or if it's just a mutual spiral of self-destruction through shared bad company.

"So much for you doing much to usher in the end times-" is all Aversa has time to say, before with a rage Gangrel takes his own dagger and plunges it into her neck. Getting the blood that he can't get from any of the Shepherds and taking it out on her instead.

Aversa simply smirks in answer, dropping to the ground but taking his weapon with her. And in the gap… the Risen surge on Gangrel, drawn by the scent of blood and death. They sweep over him in a black tide, and he barely has time to scream when a gaunt shape springs on him, digging taloned hands into his face and throat, spilling his blood completely.

And there's something… familiar about that gaunt Risen. And Chrom feels Robin tense and stiffen up beside him in recognition.

-o-o-o-

Robin stays curled against Chrom, staring up at the sight… much as she wants to close her eyes.

The lead Risen uncurls from Gangrel's corpse, stretching back up to his full height. His eyes meet Robin's, the light in them threatening to burn her alive. The ruby color flickers for a moment, as his lips curl up into a knowing smirk. The flesh around his lips and eyes tear from the motion.

And now she has an understanding on why he always wears that knowing, prideful look around her. She's seen this man before. Not just as a Risen, but… _before_. Before everything.

The memories flood into her head. Threaten to drown her. The same man standing over her, where she's bound to a table like a ritual sacrifice. Invoking dark rites that easily echo over her gagged screams… then choking the life out of her, using her terror and the power in their blood to call up something terrible.

"V…Validar." The name wrenches itself off her tongue. "Fa…ther."

She hates the second word. She hates the way Chrom flinches and stares when she says that, and the way that knowing look spreads along the Risen's face. The air seems to hum with power around them, the Risen's presence seeping into her head.

' _Just like before. When Emmeryn died. And… when he killed-'_

Her. Cast spells and pulled her under his thrall, using her life as the payment.

 _ **So now you remember.**_

The power hums in her brain, forming words. His lips pull back to show his teeth in a grin. Despite the wear and tear of the grave, those are still bright. Bright and SHARP.

 _ **Now you KNOW. You know who you are. You know your purpose.**_

Who is she up against that gaze, and that voice suffocating her thoughts?

Nothing. A bare, feeble, nothing.

 _'Nothing.'_ It echoes through her head, chasing every remaining thought out. Robin slumps her head, waiting to suffocate under Validar's focus.

A grip tightens around her. Warm, strong... And yanking her out of the downward spiral of Validar's eyes. Chrom's sides tremble against her, fast and pulsing... and alive.

She would've thought he'd let go by now. Between the dead sister and acting as a magnet for Risen and outing her family relations... but now his grip is tighter on her than ever, not wanting to release her.

Validar sees the way Chrom is holding on to her, too. His smile falls away, into a sneer and he takes a step forward. Gangrel crashes to the ground, with a wet slap that sounds the world similar to a sack of dead meat. Validar doesn't bother with raising him, or Aversa. His focus is only on them now. Like Chrom and Robin are a personal insult to him.

With a snarl he calls the Risen to his side, pulling them away from where they tore into the bodies of Gangrel's guard. Even Robin finds herself twitching in Chrom's arms. It's that same siren call from so many days ago; to turn and fight, sink her teeth into skin just as she did with Emmeryn.

 **KILL.**

Ahead H and Th both twitch, heads bending to the silent command. Robin bites her teeth together, squinting her eyes shut. She can feel a red glow seeping back into them.

"Robin?" Chrom's voice tickles at her ear, along with his breath. "Robin... it's ok." There's a breathless, shaky quality to his words, like he's trying to assure himself as much as her.

"You don't have to listen to him. It doesn't matter who he is; you don't have to follow his orders. You can just listen to yourself."

Robin wrenches from Validar, swearing that she's heard a different echo in Chrom's voice; a hint of someone else. The blue of Chrom's hair dims out for an instant, replaced by gold. Emmeryn's eyes take the place of his, and watch her, calm and certain.

 _'Do you understand now?'_ Her voice whispers inside Robin's head. Her head is starting to feel a bit crowded, with so many memories and voices taking up residence.

 _'Maybe I am gone. But the fact remains... you are STILL here. You remain. And I hope you do something with that life. And I hope you do something for the others who remain.'_

And at that... she's gone. The last of Emmeryn whispers out. The final echo fades away.

The only thing that's left is Robin. And she finds herself staring back at Chrom. There's no red glow bathing his face now; no crimson emitting from her eyes.

Robin stands from him, feels the sword at his side bump against her hip when wrenches free. His arms fall away from her, and he does a half step as well.

But he can't stop her when she turns, and dashes into the Risen. At first Validar grins, convinced she's running back to him... but that fades when she fails to draw any blood, and he sees the look in her eyes.

The Risen around her are all composed of newly fallen, as well. They fall away from her charge, pushed back by the will pouring out of her. Easily a match for Validar's. Th is close by, staring at Robin, with something fighting to the surface behind her eyes. Robin doesn't have time to wish her well with whatever her battle is; just pulling the spell book from her hands.

The cover falls open, and the pages rustle, stirring the spell choked air. Robin draws up power from the book, the beginnings of thunder building in the tips of her fingers.

Validar isn't blind to her efforts. With a hiss, a more ragged, easily thralled group of Risen form around him, trying to cut her off.

But he isn't the only one to have noticed the struggle. One of the Risen, the one Frederick had called Sumia snaps her head up, like a person breaking out from the surface of the water. She throws herself into the other, older Risen with a defiant howl.

That action and cry spurs the other Risen into action, and they throw themselves into the fray. The guard Validar tries to call up crumbles from the assault.

Leaving Robin to slam into Validar. She empties the thunder spell into him, glaring into his eyes. They stare back at her, disbelieving, but still sparking with power.

"I'm not yours!" She snaps into his face. "NEVER was yours, to spend as you want!"

Maybe she was weak before, when he cast the first spell, and couldn't fight back. But not now.

In response, one bony hand clamps around her throat and spins her over, slamming her into the edge of the wall. Robin calls up another spell, trying to empty it into Validar. But his hold doesn't loosen. With all the spells powering him, it will take more than that.

Validar sneers and snarls into her face. The teeth snap in front of her, a breath from her nose. His eyes try to burn into hers again... but Robin stares back, defiant. Even if he has to choke the life out of her again, she still won't submit-

The red in his eyes dies out for an instant, the color drowned out by a gleam of silver jutting out from his chest. It tapers into a metal point, and the hands loosen around her throat. Robin gasps around the new air, eyes focusing on the sword.

She remembers the sword, and how fine the point is; it's cut her before, so of course it punctures brittle flesh and bones with ease. Validar's hands uselessly claw and tear at the blade. Robin gives him one more thing to tear at, punching a fist of thunder into his chest.

And the red in his eyes dies from the dual attack. Validar slumps forward. Over him she can just glimpse Chrom. Their eyes meet for a second-

Then Validar slumps all the way. With spells no longer holding him up, gravity takes over instead.

And his fingers stay around Robin, gripping her throat, her robe. Validar's dead weight drags her over, away-

Off over the edge of the wall, and Chrom is yanked with her. A cry goes up from the Shepherds, even H and Th stop in their fight to stare as they vanish over the edge.

Validar is already dissolving around them, turning to dust and ash. Air howls past Robin's ears in place of a death scream, and she knows the ground is still a long way off. Long enough for her life, what little there is, to flash before her eyes. Maybe this is it; maybe this is all her unlife was leading up to-

"ROBIN!" Chrom screams out, and he mirrors her fall. Below a glimmer of moonlight shows on water, a castle moat. But it still seems hard and unforgiving to Robin.

Chrom is reaching for her as they draw nearer to the end of their fall... and Robin reaches back. She wraps her arms around him, trying to shield him from the impact. Her coat flaps out around them as cloth wings.

Below them, Validar's remains shatter where they hit the water, flowing away. Then they splash into the water, almost as hard. The water smashes any air from Robin's lungs... and it _hurts._ The pain is a smack across her senses, a bright sensation. It stabs at her flesh, her bones... but she still clings to Chrom, cushioning him from the worst of it. And in a way, it's amazing that she can feel the hurt. The inky waters close around Robin's vision, water and bubbles roaring around her.

Dimly over that, she can feel Chrom start to pull at her, and yank her back to the surface.

Back to something other than shrouding, numbing darkness. Robin closes her fingers around his grip, helping him tug her back up.

Their heads break the surface, gasping, and...

Alive.

-o-o-o-

For the first time, the first time in a long time, the sun shines back at full strength. It bathes the city in soft morning brightness. The walls have a different look, now that the gates have been thrown open.

Chrom stands in front of them, still dripping the last of the water off from his quick plunge. On the other side, still in the shelter of the city, stand the Shepherds, and the living citizens.

At his back are the remaining Risen.

Or rather, former Risen. There's something different to them now. They don't stand listless, but rather... waiting.

The first among them detaches from the group, walking to Chrom. He takes up her hand, drawing her to where everyone can see her. Robin isn't shy about lifting her head and shedding her hood, showing her eyes.

The morning dawn gives them a gentle, brown and black light. And no trace of red to them at all.

"Hi." She says to the living and almost-living, both. "I'm Robin. And... I USED to be dead. As you might see, that isn't really the case anymore." Chrom snorts a little at the speech, but still nods to it. His fingers wrap a little bit tighter around hers, weaving them together as he raises their hands up.

"This is how we end up surviving." He adds. "This is going to be how we'll get through the end times, and make them... well, not that. Maybe the beginning of something else."

Behind them, another stirs forward and Chrom holds his breath, waiting. From the way she stills, Robin does the same. Those shuffling footsteps sound a lot like Sumia's; even as she is now, she's still a little clumsy on her feet.

Before she can trip over them, someone moves from the living side. Frederick closes the distance and holds his hands out to steady hers. She lifts her head, the red glow already dimming in her eyes.

"Th... thank... you." She just manages, and Frederick gives her a careful smile.

"They're still like us. And they can be us." Chrom lifts his voice to the remainder. "Just remember that-"

But he almost doesn't need the words, since more and more footsteps are filling the air, both sides moving forwards. He just glimpses Gaius speaking with one of Robin's companions, offering her something sweet he likely swiped from the pantries before arriving. Chrom just hears Robin's friend offer her name, carefully sounding it out. "Tharja."

H is introducing himself as Henry to another of the Shepherds, and the mood... it might not be joyful, but there's a sort of cautious, careful hope where there was none before.

Chrom turns to Robin at that, and is greeted by her smiling. It really does light up her face... as does the way she leans forward, and he mirrors the motion, bringing their faces in close.

It's just a soft kiss, to match the morning. Equally soft is the warmth spreading through Chrom's chest. Robin laughs against his lips, and moves his hand up to her chest, to rest on her collarbone.

Underneath, he can feel her heart beating. Warm, strong, and a perfect match for his own.

 **The End.**


End file.
